


Blue Moon Rising

by CountOfEight



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Beginnings, Blood, Character Study, Kid!Hisoka, M/M, Meteor City, Murder Kink, Sex, Violence, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:58:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountOfEight/pseuds/CountOfEight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy with the blue hair had never been interested in the stars.<br/>Character study on Hisoka's childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Moon Rising

Blue Moon Rising

A Hisoka Character study 

 

The boy with the blue hair has never been interested in the stars.

They are remote, unreachable; the abstract holds no romance for him, no mystery. He has only ever cared about what he can hold in his own two hands. The city taught him long ago that those are the only things that are real enough to matter; anything else is a waste of time. Just smoke and mirrors. He doesn't care about the stars, but tonight he looks up. A full moon hangs low in the sky and as it fills his vision he finds himself wondering if something interesting will happen.

The streets, if they could even be called that, are empty; all the other residents of this place already huddled in whatever kind of shelter they could find or construct for the night. It stinks, but he doesn't notice it anymore. Anyone raised in this place has that stench permanently burned into their nostrils. Rancid and sour, with overtones of the chemicals that soak the piles of rubble and filth. It permeates every inch of this city. It smells like home.

He thinks that maybe he hates it here, but it is the sum total of the world he knows. There is a world outside of this one. No one likes to talk about it, but he has become very good at overhearing things that he shouldn't, and he wonders what it might be like to go there someday. But this city is like a living thing, malevolent and grasping, and once it has you in it's clutches it doesn't give you up easily. Even if you do get out it's not the sort of place a person just shakes off; it gets into your bones. Once you've belonged to it, you will never truly be free of it's smothering embrace.

He knows that one day he'll leave; the city can't hold him here forever, however hard it may try, but he worries slightly that maybe he'll reach the outside world and find it to be just as dull and uninteresting as it is here. The same song, just with different words. He thinks he might feel disappointed, but it is no matter. If he does not find the entertainment he seeks then he will simply create it; a talent that he has perfected for himself in the bowels of this lost place. He decided long ago that it doesn't matter what he finds out there. He is never coming back.

The boy stops for a moment to consider the jagged edges of a burnt-out building. He has to admit that it holds a particular sort of aesthetic. The reduction of beautiful things to husking remains has always excited him in a way he doesn't quite know how to explain. The building next to it is a bit less worse for wear, and he smiles slightly at the comparison; lips curling upwards in a way that others tended to find strangely unpleasant for one so young. He turns to continue on, but a hand closes around his mouth, snatching him backwards into the darkness between the two buildings.

~~*~~

The man looks down at the boy in his arms. He's not struggling, which is strange, and when he sets him down he doesn't try to run. In fact, the child doesn't seem frightened at all, but that's fine, he's not picky about that. Just to be safe he keeps a firm hand on the back of the boy's neck as he fumbles himself free of his pants, but the kid doesn't move an inch. He just looks calmly up at him, and in the moonlight the man would swear his eyes looked yellow. It must be his lucky night, if he's this quiet so far the kid might not even scream.

He thinks he hears the boy make a small sound; perhaps a soft huff of laughter as he spits a wad of what looks like chewing gum out beside him. He isn't given time to wonder about that laugh however, before small hands close around his hardening length with surprising dexterity, working him until he thinks he is harder than he has ever been in his life. It really is his lucky night, he decides through a haze of pleasure. Maybe he'll even bring the kid home with him; the wife's always saying she wants one.

"You like this, right? This is what you wanted?" The boy's voice is soft and melodius, surrounding him through the pleasant fog that fills his brain; then there is nothing but tight, slick heat as the small mouth closes around him, swallowing him down expertly, hungrily. His head falls back against the wall, eyes unfocused. Sharp fingernails rake across his skin, surprising the man, but it's not unpleasant. Could be difficult to explain to the wife come morning, but he'll think of something. He always does. But that thought is a dim one. Distant; shoved far into the back of his consciousness. That thought is for the future. In the now he rides waves of searing ecstasy closer and closer to the edge of a towering precipace, and when he's finally looking down over the edge he tries to hang on, to make it last, but there's no stopping it and he topples over with a shuddering moan that shakes him from head to toe. He doesn't realize he's fallen to his knees until he finds himself staring directly into uncanny eyes. Are they yellow? He thinks they are. Somehow that seems important.

"It seems you've enjoyed yourself," comes the light, musical voice. "I hope you won't mind returning the favor?" He never even has time to scream when those small, clever fingers close upon his windpipe, crushing it. The man lets out a confused gurgle, but that is all he can manage. That, and watch as full lips twist upward again in that strange and unpleasant smile.

For a long time after, the silence is broken only by the soft sounds of flesh being methodically torn asunder and the wet, throaty noises of a man trying to scream who is no longer capable of any such feat. When the night finally fades into quiet again the small confines of the alley are spattered with red, pools glinting dully in the moonlight. In the middle of it all stands the boy, pristine except for a small drop of blood that has splashed his cheek. He carefully collects the fluid on a pale fingertip and brings it to his lips, staining them red with a brush of his finger.

The boy with the blue hair presses a bloody kiss to the fading warmth of the dead man's lips. "Thanks for a good time," he hums softly before fading back into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I took a few liberties with his past, since we never find out where he comes from. I saw him as having come from Meteor city, so that's how I wrote it. That place seems to have a reputation of churning out formidable and warped individuals and I'm having a hard time seeing him coming from some average town without his backstory being common knowledge. People would know, and people talk, or at least that's how I'm choosing to look at it.  
> Oh, one more relevant note, I have him as around Gon and Killua's age for this, just in case anyone was wondering.  
> That all being said, this is the first thing I've written in years, so I welcome all comments on what, if anything, I did right and what could use some work. Thank you so much for your support!


End file.
